


Sell My Old Clothes, I'm Off To Heaven

by marshmallowdeanie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, canonverse, maybe? - Freeform, sorta crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3201725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshmallowdeanie/pseuds/marshmallowdeanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean decides to try on Castiel's trench coat. Maybe being sentimental is a side-effect of the Mark of Cain?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean was awake incredibly early compared to his usual schedule.

He and Sam had made an unspoken agreement since they’d stationed themselves permanently at the bunker that they—or at least Dean—would sleep in til noon with no interruptions. Sam never slept that late, but Dean took full advantage whenever he could, only ever rising earlier when they were going to work a case.

He’d been having a bout of insomnia lately, no doubt a symptom of the Mark of Cain. He didn’t bother Sam about it, though, and he sure as hell preferred the insomnia over the migraine auras and chills he sometimes experienced.

After about three hours of sleep the previous night, Dean had been awake since 6 am, and it was close to eight now, he guessed. Sam would probably be waking up at some point to go for a run or do yoga or pilates or whatever weird healthy shit he did. Dean never asked.

He walked through the library holding his cup of hot chamomile tea, simply looking around. Nothing in any of these books looked even slightly like it would be able to give him the answers he needed about the mark. Dean had a lot of regrets, but the mark wasn’t one of them. He wanted it gone—more than anything—but the mark had allowed him to kill Abbadon. Without it who knows what kind of shitstorm she would have perpetuated. That was more important than his suffering.

Dean sighed to no one but himself and the dusty shelves. 

Something caught his eye, draped neatly over one of the mahogany seats at the long tables that matched. It was light brown, water resistant. He smiled.

Castiel had come back to the bunker with them a few days ago to regroup. He and Sam had been doing a lot of research, and Cas popped in and out on leads that Sam came up with. They were doing everything they could for Dean, but Dean couldn’t help but feel like they were wasting their time on him. He didn’t deserve it.

Dean set his mug down on one of the tables and walked over to the chair. He lifted Castiel’s coat off of the chair and looked at it for a moment.

It was different than the one Dean had pulled out of the reservoir and salvaged a few years back when Cas had been compromised by those leviathan. But it was still the same basic jacket, just a little more modern, stylistically. It was still very Cas.

Dean let the coat fall open as he shifted it in his hands and held it up to look at it. He thought about washing it for Cas, but then again, that involved a trip to the laundromat, and right now he knew Sam didn’t want him going anywhere on his own. It wasn’t terribly dirty, anyhow.

Dean looked over both of his shoulders, just to be sure he was truly alone. Then tentatively, he put his right arm into the sleeve of the coat. It fit, so he draped it across his back and pushed his left arm through the other sleeve. The fabric pulled at his shoulders, fitting snugly. It wouldn’t quite pull across his chest. He was too wide for it to button. He hadn’t checked the size on the tag, but that seemed funny to him. That Castiel, an angel, actually wore a clothing size. 

Either way, Dean grinned as he smoothed the jacket out. He peered around for something to check out his reflection in. He wandered down one of the long corridors and opened the door of a coat closet. A mirror hung on the inside of the door. 

Dean modeled the jacket for himself in the full-length mirror, laughing very quietly to himself. It wasn’t very flattering on him. He couldn’t pull it off the way Cas did—on Dean, it just looked funny. Like he was dressed up as Cas for Halloween. To amuse himself, he stood up unnaturally straight and imitated Castiel’s voice.

Just then, Dean heard a door close somewhere down the corridor. Sam’s room was in this wing of the bunker. 

Alarmed and embarrassed, Dean tore his arms out of the coat sleeve, turning them inside out in the process, and balled it up, throwing it down on the closet floor and swiftly shutting the door, only to see Sam round the corner moments after.

"Hey. What are you doing awake?" Sam asked with a furrowed brow and a sleep-glazed voice. 

"I-I-I was just looking for…my coat. I think I left something in my pocket," Dean returned too quickly, red-faced and nervous.

"Oh. What was it?" Sam asked, giving Dean a wary look.

"Uh…my…cell phone," Dean lied with a fake smile, weaving around Sam’s body and starting back up the corridor.

Sam shrugged and carried his toothbrush the rest of the way to the bathroom, writing off Dean’s behavior as a lack of sleep. 

Later, as Dean was scrolling through some lore on his laptop across from Sam, Castiel entered the room with a look of befuddlement on his face.

"I seem to have misplaced my coat…,"

"Oh, sorry Cas. I haven’t seen it," Sam replied, glancing up briefly to shrug at Castiel.

Dean’s pulse thrummed and his collar grew hot.

"Beats me. You gotta keep better track of your stuff, man," Dean said only after clearing his throat.

Castiel eyed him in what Dean swore was a suspicious way for a split second. He had to bring his gaze back to his laptop screen and bite his tongue to avoid laughing.

Castiel sighed and headed into the next room.

Dean would go get the coat later and leave it somewhere the angel would find it. Poor guy.

Dean was an idiot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more on this idea because apparently someone liked it idk :)

Dean waited until Sam was considerably drunk--mostly due to Dean's own bad influence--to go and retrieve Castiel's coat from the closet where he'd chucked it in an embarrassed flurry earlier. They hadn't had a very successful night of research, and Sam joined Dean in his patronage of the Jack Daniels bottle. Cas had gone to his room, or maybe popped out, at least an hour ago. 

"Where'ya goin'?" Sam asked, his cheek squashed against the book that was open in front of him. His bangs hung in his face. 

Dean frowned, drunk enough to feel that familiar heat in his forehead and cheeks, but not to the same degree as Sam. Sam didn't get this drunk unless he was really stressed out. Dean knew this was taking a toll on his brother, and it caused a pang of guilt to twinge in his chest, even though his limbs felt dumb from the drink.

"Bathroom," Dean lied, which may have been a shoddy excuse for a sober Sam, but not now. He knew his brother wouldn't follow. And good thing, too, because drunk Sam would laugh even worse than normal Sam if Dean had to explain why Cas's trench coat was inside out on the closet floor.

 

Dean walked carefully down the hall, feeling a little woozy but otherwise maintaining his balance. He opened up the closet door and saw the coat just as he'd left it earlier. He bent over to pick it up, brushing it off and turning the sleeves back the right way. Remembering his impression of Castiel in the mirror earlier, Dean felt stupid. He didn't know why he put on his friend's coat. Maybe he thought he'd feel like Cas, a wise, powerful angelic force, rather than himself, a broken-down poor excuse for a hunter and a complete bitch to the Mark of Cain's persuasion. Dean folded the coat over his arm and closed the closet door, avoiding his reflection in the mirror as he did.

Castiel's room was in the same wing as Dean's--something Sam had insisted when they'd moved some furniture into it. It wasn't the angel's primary roost, as Castiel did things independently a lot. But Sam said something about Castiel sensing danger faster and better than he ever would, so it would be best if he were close to Dean in order to make sure he was safe. In other words, Sam didn't trust that Dean wouldn't sleepwalk his way into another mass murder.

Dean headed down the corridor towards Castiel's room. Cas wouldn't be there. Dean was pretty sure that he'd popped out for the night since he'd last taken some grace and didn't need to sleep. He'd just leave it on Cas's bed and if Cas started asking questions, Dean would just tell him he'd found it...somewhere.

Dean opened the door to Castiel's room slowly and flipped the light on, which flickered before burning steady. To his great surprise, Cas was asleep on top of the blankets on his small bed.

"Son of a bitch," Dean stammered as Castiel shifted his weight and sat up to look straight at him. "I thought angels didn't need to sleep?!" Dean asked, his drunkeness giving him a groggy sounding throng in his voice.

"You know I'm not up to par, Dean. Is something wrong? Is that my coat?" Castiel asked, each word punctuated perfectly even in his sleep-riddled voice. Castiel wore his white button-down shirt open exposing his chest, and his black slacks were on but his belt hung around one of the posts of the four poster bed. 

Dean placed the coat at the foot of the bed and shifted from foot  to foot, desperately fishing for an explanation in his head. Castiel stared at him in confusion, obviously waiting for  him to answer.

"Yeah. I...I found it in my car. You must have left it or something," he covered, looking anywhere but at Cas.

"I checked there this afternoon...I didn't see it," Castiel replied, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, you must have overlooked it, I guess," Dean said, eyes drifting to the ceiling as he leaned against one of the bed posts.

"You're drunk," Castiel said with a hint of both surprise and amusement in his tone. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and put his feet on the floor, then approached Dean slowly. Dean gulped and finally met Cas's eyes.

"Why'd you take it?" Cas asked in a dropped tone, standing very close. Dean's neck was hot. All he could do was stare at Castiel's lips.

"I-I-I didn't--I tried it on. I just wanted to see if it would fit. For fun," Dean confessed, talking the tiniest step backward. The alcohol he'd drank seemed to bubble in his chest like magma inside of a volcano.

Castiel's face immediately relaxed and his demeanor shifted. He smiled very gently, like he does, and Dean let a chuckle escape. He blamed the Jack.

"Did it fit?" Castiel asked after a few beats, and he turned around to pick it up from off of the bed.

Dean shook his head slowly, grinning some more. "Nah,"

"I want to see," Castiel said, filling the small space between there bodies with his outstretched arm, in his grasp the brown jacket. Dean snorted and gave Cas's hand a gentle shove.

"No, man, I don't want to. It's too small," he said.

"Please, Dean. I believe it may make me laugh," Castiel persisted, shaking the coat at Dean's chest. What the hell, why should Dean not lighten the moment? Couldn't Cas use a laugh? They'd all been bustin' their asses for months over the Mark and Sam and Cas were tired. And it was Dean's fault they were so burnt out. Why should Dean rob them of anything else? The least he could do was humiliate himself for Cas's enjoyment, right?

He reluctantly slid his arms into the coat's sleeves and straightened the lapels. There was at least five inches of space between the buttons and the button holes. There was no way they'd ever connect, even if Dean held his breath and sucked in. Castiel looked Dean up and down and this wonderful laugh rolled through his body. It wasn't like he found Dean hilarious or anything. It was just a very simple, short, laugh. But he smiled at Dean, wider than before, and Dean smiled back.

"You do look pretty silly," Cas admitted to him, tilting his head a bit and stepping closer. He lifted his hands to the buttons on the coat and gave a futile attempt at doing them. He laughed again. Dean tried to record the sound with his mind, just so he could play it back later. It was the first he'd ever really seen Castiel _laugh_. 

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, chuckles," Dean said with a hiccup, starting to shrug the coat off. It was too warm with it on not to mention uncomfortable. But something unexpected happened.

"Dean,"

Dean felt Castiel ball his fists into the fabric of the coat, holding the lapels. His disposition had altered again, and his smile was gone. His eyes were like giant blue globes, swimming as Dean's vision spun and he leaned against the wall.

Dean blinked in what felt like slow motion. Castiel's face seemed to drift a lot closer. When his own name registered, he lifted his gaze to meet Castiel's again, realizing that Castiel was sort of supporting his body, which was really feeling affected by the alcohol. Dean smiled even though Castiel didn't.

There was breath against Dean's mouth for a moment, and then a soft, moist, pressure. It took him at least six seconds to realize what was happening. Castiel was kissing him. Dean did not protest. He felt like they were under water. Castiel's lips were very soft and very gentle--hell, Dean had never been kissed so gently in his _life._ Their noses bumped together _._ Then the feeling was gone, and Dean's eyes were wide open now.

"I'm going to do everything I can to save you, Dean. I promise. Everything. I'm going to figure it out, and no matter what it takes...I'm willing to sacrifice whatever I can...for you," Castiel said, still gripping the coat lapels but leaving a space between them. His voice was different. It was so.... _human_. It was brimming with emotion. More than Dean had ever pegged Cas to have in him.

Dean just nodded, "Thanks," He muttered the response and looked at the floor again, gently prodding his own lips with his tongue and missing the feeling of being kissed already. He knew if he were sober he'd have given a more sincere response. 

A few beats passed, and then Castiel stripped the coat from Dean's shoulders. "You should probably sleep this off," he said, in his normal 'Castiel' voice--the one Dean could imitate in the mirror.

"Yeah, okay," Dean said.

 


End file.
